Echoes
by MustacheBuddiesXD
Summary: Not all endings are happy ones. Warnings: Spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness, Major Character Death


The substance that had easily resurrected a dead tribble was not nearly enough to bring James Kirk back to the land of the living, and as Spock stared blankly at the vital display in the drab hospital room, this thought and many more circled on a vicious loop in his head.

Jim was breathing, his heart was beating, and lying there under the grey covers he looked as if his eyes would open at any moment, and he would grin up at Spock and ask after the state of his ship. But there was no James T. Kirk in that body, no brightness that had so intrigued Spock, just the mocking shell. A tribble possesses no higher thought, and that was the problem.

What could easily resurrect a creature with no more functions than a plant could not bring their Captain back to them. It had been illogical to hope as Spock had. Illogical to hope with everything he had. There was nothing but bleakness in his mind now, and the remains of the sorrow that had colored his rage one short week ago in the deadly race across San Francisco. There was no rage left now: only sorrow and an echo of Jim's dying voice in his head, telling Spock that he was scared.

Doctor McCoy stood up from where he had been adjusting the IV in Jim's arm and moved over to stand beside Spock. Spock found he now had more in common with the Doctor than he ever had, for a reason that the both of them would do anything to reverse.

"I'm going to give him another day." McCoy's voice was raspy from misuse, and there were dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had been working tirelessly for the past week, to no avail, and Spock could see that the Doctor was crumbling. It took a great ordeal to make Doctor McCoy waver, and this was destroying him.

"If his brainwaves don't pick up I'll have to…" He trailed off, but Spock knew what he meant. He'd have to unhook Jim's body from the life support equipment and let him die. There was no reason to keep a lifeless body on life support.

Spock's hands clenched into fists by his sides. "You know as well as I that he is gone."

McCoy's head snapped around to face him, eyes narrowing. "We can't just give up on him, Spock! I don't care if it's illogical or not. He's our Captain and our friend."

There was now anger. "Do not think for one moment that my reasoning lessens my care, or that I am _giving up on him."_ Spock's voice was low and dangerous now, and he could feel his control slipping. He took a deep, anchoring breath and continued before the startled doctor could comment. "There is nothing left of the Jim we knew, and it is a disgrace to his memory to be keeping the shell of him alive. He is no longer with us, Doctor, and we are merely prolonging our suffering."

McCoy looked away from him sharply, his breathing harsh. "I know, dammit. I know." He glanced up at the prone form on the bed and barely held back a sob. "This is killing me."

Spock wished he could console the doctor but felt it would not be helpful nor appreciated. How could you heal another soul when yours was shattering?

Spock had remained at the hospital throughout the transfusion and the days after, the path of his feelings resembling the erratic mountain ranges of Vulcan. Here he would stay until the end.

McCoy's face was a pale, stony mask as he began shutting down the machines, and as the whirring diminished the room became eerily quiet.

Spock moved to stand next to the bed, looking down at the smooth, peaceful face with the golden hair and the blue eyes that he would never see again. Spock would have reached out to take Jim's hand or brush a hand across his forehead, but he feared that the blankness in Jim's mind would haunt him more than it already did. Perhaps it was best that their last touch be through the glass, a touch that they had both been a part of.

James T. Kirk took his last breath, and pain bloomed in Spock's mind. Logically Spock had witnessed Jim's death that day in front of the warp chamber. Logic had left him now, and his eyes burned along with each breath that he took. Though he was sorry for McCoy, he could stand there no longer, could not remain in that prison of a room where Jim no longer lived. He turned and strode out of the room without a backwards glance, his pace quickening until he made it out of the hospital and into the crisp San Francisco air.

The agony in his head made one thing painfully clear to the touch telepath. With Jim's death a bond had been severed; a warrior's bond that was meant to be cherished and celebrated now would be a painful reminder to what had been taken from him. Of how Jim Kirk, his Captain and his T'hy'la, had been taken from him.


End file.
